


ain't gonna be the one left standing

by egelantier



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Angst, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Car Accidents, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egelantier/pseuds/egelantier
Summary: And Prompto isn't even done. "He's not like Gladio, is he? It's not, like, a hereditary title, he just got picked to be your advisor. Aren't you ever afraid he’ll, you know. Have enough one day?""Bullshit," Noct snaps, finally goaded. "Ignis will never."He means to sound confident and a bit cynical, because it's obvious, right? But Prompto raises his hands, as if shielding himself. "Sure, dude, sure. Sorry, just - thinking out loud, it's nothing. You would know."(Or: Noct tries to navigate his and Ignis' changing relationship in a world that's full of obligations and dangers.)
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 26
Kudos: 62
Collections: Fics from the Basement





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saisei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/gifts).



> Written for saisei's bid on the Equality Auction, with all my love (and gratitude for sei's patience).

"Dude," Prompto tells Noct while they're working - resentfully, in Noct's case - on their homework, hunched over Noct's dining table. "Why are you so pissed off at Ignis today? What crawled up your ass and died?" 

Noct whips around to stare at him. He-and-Ignis is never, ever up for discussion. And yeah, Noct's been a dick to Ignis all evening, and Ignis eventually beat a graceful retreat from the apartment. Noct's been internally seething over it for the last two hours, but - none of this is Prompto's business. Is it?

"I just mean," Prompto continues, completely oblivious and earnest. "He makes you dinners, he keeps track of your stuff, he covers for you before your dad, and like, he gives a shit. Is it - is it so bad?" 

Something prevents Noct from going into a full-on monologue about all the ways Ignis was the worst today. Moving him from appointment to appointment like Noct's a show animal. Full-on beaming all of his _if you're not at your best my entire life was for nothing_ neurotic fretting into the back of Noct's head. Noct can write an entire thesis of grievances right now, but - maybe it's the way Prompto's voice goes a bit soft and wistful on the words "gives a shit", Noct doesn't know.

And Prompto isn't even done. "He's not like Gladio, is he? It's not, like, a hereditary title, he just got picked to be your advisor. Aren't you ever afraid he'll, you know. Have enough one day?" 

"Bullshit," Noct snaps, finally goaded. "Ignis will never."

He means to sound confident and a bit cynical, because it's obvious, right? But Prompto raises his hands, as if shielding himself. "Sure, dude, sure. Sorry, just - thinking out loud, it's nothing. You would know."

 _Damn right_ , Noct thinks, _I would_. 

He checks his phone anyway, and breathes out a tiny sigh of relief when he sees a message reminding him to pack his school bag in advance.

(He even magnanimously intends to do the bag thing, but the homework is exhausting, and then he and Prompto get caught up in a Justice Monsters duel that goes way past midnight, and by the time Prompto staggers into the taxi, the message is long forgotten.)

The next morning begins way too early and way too bright. Noct's head hurts, his muscles ache with a dull, cramping pain of not enough sleep, and his back is seizing up. Ignis' bland retail cheer scrapes against his nerves, and by the time Specs discovers the empty school bag crumpled behind the sofa and turns to Noct, raising a loathsomely disappointed eyebrow, Noct is ready for an all-out war.

He snaps and snarls his way through all his morning rituals, pokes at the fancy omurice Ignis whips up without taking a bite, and takes savage pleasure in a way Ignis' jaw stiffens. Still, Ignis continues to smile at him, as if he's standing behind the counter in Noct's fast-food place.

 _Well fuck you, too_ , Noct thinks, and drags his feet until they're late to school. He spends the ride resentfully watching Ignis' hands tighten on the wheel, hearing the distant, discordant crash of Ignis' disintegrating schedule -

\- And still Ignis' voice is perfectly level as he wishes Noct a good day. The car glides out of the schoolyard; Noct stares at it and fights the urge to start stomping and screaming.

"He doesn't care," he tells Prompto, mid-lunch, and, judging by the way Prompto startles, mid-unrelated-conversation too. "He's just paid to cart me around, and he likes looking good at what he does, okay?"

"Weren't you guys raised together? Do you think they were, like, paying him in lollipops for playing snakes-and-ladders with you when you were kids?"

Noct feels deeply and absurdly betrayed, for no reason at all. He doesn't even know if the Crown actually pays Ignis, he suddenly realizes, or how much. Gladio lives off the Amicitia's estate - the Amicitias had been given lands and stuff in exchange for their Shield services, Astrals know how many generations ago. And Ignis…

Ignis used to live in Citadel when they were young. He’d had a room in the same wing Noct's quarters are, and stayed there until he’d hit sixteen and started advanced private schooling. And then - what?

"I don't even know where he lives," Noct says bitterly, startling himself with his own voice. "For all I know, the staff pack him into a box every evening."

Prompto glances at him. "The way you talk about him nowadays, it's like _you_ are forced to spend time with him."

Noct's scowls at him - and then a quick sideways flash of memory tears through him, a sweet-sour smell of blood, red creeping up an edge of white lace. Was his nanny paid a whole lot? He liked her, he knows; he can't remember her face.

"I dunno," he mumbles, finally, when the silence stretches too much. "Let's go to class, okay?"

* * *

The creeping unease sticks to Noct all day. He waits until Сlassic Solheim Lit (nobody cares), and begins a list of questions in his note app:

\- where does Specs live?

\- how much is he paid?

\- what does he do in his free time?

\- why did he change his hair?

\- does he even like me or -

He stares at the last line, then deletes the entire file. What's the point of asking? Specs never going to admit anything, and - maybe he doesn't. Maybe he's as trapped as Noct is.

It should enrage him again, but it just makes him sad. Specs picks him up after school, and now that Noct's watching, he can see that he's looking at Noct with caution. Like he’s waiting for an explosion, and he's resigned to getting buried under debris.

Noct slumps against the window and closes his eyes. There’d been a time when he’d known everything there was to know about Specs: what he was afraid of; what kind of food he liked; which games bored him and which ones made him happy; how to goad him into slipping the guards and diving into the gardens to explore; what was his favorite toy and what nightmares he had. Why had that changed?

Maybe this new Ignis had grown out of the Specs of Noct's childhood the way you grow out of old clothes, and Noct was expected to let it go. But what if Ignis didn't? What if it was Noct who’d left him behind, like that old Specs is a once-beloved teddy bear now gathering dust in the royal nursery?

In the Citadel training grounds Gladio whacks him with a wooden sword until Noct is one entire throbbing bruise, then finally throws his hands up in disgust. "I know you can do better. What the hell?"

Noct, sprawled on the mats, asks before he can think. "What does Specs do when he's not at work?"

Gladio squints down at him, suspicious for a moment - and then laughs and offers his hand. "Ask him, you idiot, not me."

"You're not helping," Noct mutters, but hauls himself up.

* * *

In the car on the way home from training Specs is still watching him, mouth smiling, eyes wary. Noct gets into the car with an explicit intention to be nicer, but this little polite half-smile infuriates him.

He says, "So I flunked my history test," and then he says, "Why did you even bother leaving this report for me, I don't care," and he says, "Gladio says he trained wooden dummies that were better than me today," and - and still there's no reaction he half-hopes for.

By the time they pull into the underground garage and Specs kills the engine, Noct's entire rib cage feels caved in. He's spitting out a mix of taunts and accusations he can't decipher himself, and they abrade his throat on the way out.

Ignis reaches for the door, like he's going to get out of the car as if nothing's happening.

"You don't even care," Noct says, viciously, and swallows hard; he can't look, all of a sudden. "I guess they’re paying really well, huh..."

"Noct," Specs says, and clears his throat. "That is, Your Highness." His voice is perfectly even, but there's still something niggling at Noct about the way it sounds, sometimes familiar and wrong. Noct glances down and sees Specs' hands, folded together so tightly that the leather of his gloves is creased.

"I hope you understand that you're fully entitled to ask His Majesty to assign somebody more, ah. Personally palatable for you."

"What?"

Noct's stomach gives a swooping lurch; he feels groggy, feels like he caught a hit to the head in the training yard. His mind is full of swirling terror, because only now he realizes that for all these doubts he never, ever thought Specs would fold for real.

He drags his eyes up ( _get up and face the music_ , Gladio booms in his head) - he drags his eyes up, trying to get enough air into his stupid lungs, and makes himself look at the unimaginable, at Specs leaving him. Doesn't he deserve it? Does he deserve it? Specs is staring fixedly ahead, and yes, it must be awful for him, and now Noct will have to be - proper - and let him go, and take responsibility, and…

He sees something he hasn't seen since they were kids together. Ignis' chin is trembling, just a tiny bit; invisible to anybody who doesn't know how serious, eight-year-old Specs used to hold himself together when told off by the adults.

"Specs," Noct whispers, horrified. "Are you crying?"

He tears his seatbelt open and launches across the gear shift. Specs makes a soft little sound when Noct barrels into him, and under Noct's frantic arms he's rigid, unyielding, a carefully built exoskeleton of his pose holding him up.

"No," Noct whispers, "no, no, don't please."

Specs swallows, pulling in a careful, close-mouthed breath. "I apologize," he says, over Noct's head, and if Noct didn't _know_ , his voice would sound normal. "I don't mean to upset you, it's..."

"Shut _up_ , Specs," Noct says, because he desperately doesn't want to know where Specs' apology will get them. "Shut up, shut up, don't say anything, don't - aren't you tired of me yet? You must be tired of me, I keep fucking things up. I'm _sorry_ , I'll do better, I'll stop bitching all the time, just don't - "

The gear shift is digging a painful groove in his bad hip, and he can't twist around enough to look at Specs' face, but it doesn't matter so long as he keeps Specs where he is, right now. He hear slittle hitches of breath, little earthquakes shaking Specs' ribcage, and he doesn't know how to stop them or how to stop himself. "You really care? Are you - why are you - do you _think_ I want you to go?"

"Don't you?"

"Are you _stupid_ ," Noct hisses, vehemently. "What the _hell_ , Specs. I just want - I thought you didn't care about me, only about the prince stuff, and I suck at prince stuff."

Specs finally unfreezes enough to take a firm hold of Noct's shoulders and straighten him up. Noct's can see tears sliding down Specs' face, making it messy and shiny.

"I _care_ about the 'stupid prince stuff'," Specs says, blotchy. "You are a prince, and it's my privilege to help you be the best prince you can be. But I can't stand the thought of being despised by you. I'd rather..."

There's warmth growing in Noct's chest, melting the awful squeeze of before, replacing it with weird, mellow happiness. Specs' still crying, it's still awful, and yet it's the best Noct’s felt in weeks, maybe months.

" _Stupid_ ," he says again. "Let's go home? I'll clean up if you make dinner, and I'll eat a carrot or something. I don't hate you, Specs, I swear."

"Two carrots," Specs says, primly, and takes a pack of tissues from the glove compartment. This time, with tear tracks still visible on Ignis’ face, Noct hears what he's truly saying.


	2. Chapter 2

Several months go by in a state of a fragile truce. Noct tries to pick up after himself, asks Prompto for tips on loading the washing machine, reads through at least one report out of three, and makes an earnest, if not always successful, effort making right facial expressions at the right courtiers. Ignis smiles more, cautious but real, and when he's unhappy with Noct he scolds him with more familiarity and bite, and less the chilly, polite disappointment Noct had dreaded hearing before.

Noct discovers that he can boss Ignis around a bit, order him to rest and take it easier when Ignis starts looking a bit wild around the eyes and even his hair begins to droop. It's a satisfying superpower, in part because Gladio and Prompto join him in teasing Ignis, and in part because - well. It's nice to see that he can make Ignis look less like he's ten minutes from tearing people's throats out with his teeth. On bad days, it makes him feel like he can actually do something, if just for one person. On good days, it's just fun: Ignis is downright crotchety and sulky when he's bossed around, and Noct enjoys every moment of it.

He also realizes that, while Ignis is unimpressed with his whining or slacking or boredom, he _will_ listen on the bad days, when Noct's leg hurts and back hurts and head hurts and the walls loom. When he looks up at the iridescent shimmer of the Wall that's slowly killing his father and feels like an insect caught under an empty glass.

On those days Ignis listens: scheduled meetings disappear, his favorite dishes are served with nary a vegetable in sight, new games are bought, and, more often than not, Prompto is invited in the evenings with gossip and cheer and pizza. It doesn't really help, except that it does, and when Noct starts thinking of Ignis as a part of what's keeping him hemmed in, herded towards a future he doesn't want, he remembers the wet shine of Ignis' tears in the garage lights and clings to it.

He never quite finds the courage to bring his list of questions up, but he lets something slip to Prompto once, on one of the bad days. The next time they're clustered around the kitchen table, Noct hunched over his equations and Prompto cheerfully hacking his way through the First Lucian War history, Prompto takes a deep breath, stretches, and asks in a voice that can almost be mistaken for natural, "So, Igster, what do you do in your free time? Noct here can't take up _all_ of your hours, can he?"

"That's hardly your business, Prompto," Ignis says, repressively, though he adds a smile because, Noct knows, he’s secretly fond of Prompto. "And moreover, it's hardly interesting."

Prompto pinches Noct's thigh under the table, and Noct swallows and wills his voice not to squeak. "Tell us anyway?"

The naked surprise on Specs' face makes Noct’s flame with an intense flash of shame. When had he last asked? Did Specs decide Noct is _really_ content with thinking that the Citadel staff pack him away once he's not needed, and stopped trying to share?

"Come on, Specs," Noct says again, and makes himself catch and hold Ignis' sliding gaze. "I wanna know."

"I suppose it's a bit embarrassing," Ignis says, righting his glasses, and Prompto perks up like a hunting hound.

"Spill, spill! Do you moonlight as a fashion model? Are you a movie critic? Do you..."

Ignis gives him and Noct another quelling glance, but then sighs and gives in.

"If you both truly have to know, it's cars."

Noct gapes at him. "Cars?"

"I have access to a fleet of some of the best cars ever conceived. Do you even know what the Star of Lucis is capable of?"

Noct says, with utter sincerity, that he has no idea, since all Ignis does with it is ferry him back and forth to school and appointments, ten boring miles under the speed limit.

" _I_ know that a normal car shouldn't have air vents covered in natural leather," Prompto says, "but I figured it was just a crazy rich people thing - no offence, Noct."

Specs waves a hand. "Those are just trimmings. But the rear wheel control is fantastic, and if you put a bit of effort into it, you can control the skid perfectly. It's responsive to..."

Noct gets lost pretty quickly, both in technical details and in seeing Specs actually get into it. He starts honest-to-Titan waving his hands around, still clutching the dripping spatula, and Noct stares until a stray comprehensible word pulls him back in.

"Wait, _ramming_? Since when do you ram cars?"

Specs looks taken aback. "Noct, you're the sole heir of your father, and I'm the person who drives you around. It requires special skills, and just so you know, I enjoy my evasive driving training."

"Whoa," Prompto says, leaning forward. "Can we see? Can _I_ see? Can you do stuff like in the movies?"

Specs laughs, and promises to take them to see one of his training sessions one day. Noct smiles at him and very carefully doesn't think that he cried a lot over his nanny's death, but never recalled the name or face of the driver who was behind the wheel on the day of the attack.

"Noct," Specs says, quietly; Noct jerks his head up, and finds Specs silent, watching him, intent and worried. "I know it's a bit boring, but..."

Noct winces guiltily, shedding the reverie before he scares Specs out of telling him anything about his life ever again. "Just tired, Specs, sorry. It sounds _awesome_ , honestly. I want to see you do that stuff."

It _is_ true, in any case, and he tries to beam as much sincerity at Specs as he can - and it works, since Specs' shoulders relax again.

"That's a promise, then."

* * *

The driving session gets planned and then delayed for a while; the winter rolls into Insomnia fast, with Shiva's Mercy Day looming up ahead.

Exams pile up, and as much as Noct likes to imagine himself as a gloomy, slightly cynical rebel who's above the school worries, he _is_ competitive enough to dread ending up on the bottom of the class rating. The top of the ladder is occupied by intense rivalry between two studious and terrifying girls in his class, and he never felt suicidal enough to get entangled in _that_ , but he does - whatever he might tell Ignis - guard his upper-middle position jealously, if only because he's keenly aware it's not _that_ important. Only Specs is seriously invested in his grades. His dad, on the rare occasions Noct sees him, might smile and ask, but on the whole the adults are much, much more interested in Noct’s ability to gladhand people, his successes with Gladio on the training field, and his magic capacity.

The diplomats, the envoys, the guild masters - everybody streams to Insomnia in time for the big end-of-the-year shindigs, and Noct memorizes endless lists of names and positions, shakes hands and learns to listen to Ignis' quiet and caustic commentary in his ear without changing his facial expression.

It's still hard - it's boring, above all, and he tries not to hunch over in guilt every time he _thinks_ it's boring. Shouldn’t he find this kind of thing naturally easy; shouldn’t he be more his father's son? He knows that Specs, for all that he runs himself ragged and lives mostly on canned coffee and sarcasm, finds enjoyment in knowing who-hates-whom and who-wants-what and who's best to avoid and who will make a good ally. Specs sometimes sets those little domino chains of favors and obligations and quiet barbs and shows Noct how they unfold, with quiet glee. It's easier now to see that this, too, is Specs' way of showing care, and sometimes Noct finds it genuinely funny or satisfying. But he knows, and quietly mourns, that if he were given a real choice between all of this glittering complexity and a lifetime of slinging fries and hanging out with Prompto in the evenings, he would - he would…

He makes Specs take an entire day off and drags him to an old fancy cars exhibition after he sees a stray ad on the street. He wants it to be a gift, and he knows it will create more work instead: Specs has to rearrange his schedule and organize both his and Noct’s entire security detail over this outing. But Specs does it with delight and spends the entire tour oohing and ahhing over the chrome and leather and polished wood of the old automobiles. Noct stops understanding the words spilling out of him pretty quickly, but he wanders behind him and grins and nods and nudges Prompto into taking a photo every time Ignis pets yet another shiny car hood like it's a cat he can't wait to adopt.

The cars are kinda cool, too, bulky and oddly shaped but quietly dignified; he tries to imagine Specs driving one of them in chauffer goggles and big leather gloves, and snickers quietly to himself.

They wander around the exhibition ground for hours, because Noct watches Ignis closely and lures him into another excited car lecture every time Ignis remembers that he should return to work. It's a bit boring and a bit perfect; Noct chews on a sticky caramel bar from the concession stand and gets really good at not noticing six plainclothes Crownsguard trailing them.

Gladio slaps his back when they get ready to leave."Good job, Princess," he says, and Noct grins back.

"Thank you for indulging me," Ignis says to them in the parking lot, looking slightly self-conscious, still deeply exhausted but happy in a way he rarely is. Noct drops his eyes and fights an entirely middle grade urge to start drawing in the gravel with the toe of his boot.

"No problems, Igster," Prompto says. "It was a photographer's dream, believe me." Gladio laughs and ruffles his hair.

"Gladio," Noct says, impulsively, "would you mind getting Prompto a lift home? It's getting late."

Gladio gives him a long, considering gaze - then nods. He steps away to call the security team leader and Noct tunes him out with an ease of long practice. They're well downtown, and he knows there’ll be at least three cars following them discreetly; he's not stepping on anybody's toes by rearranging the convoy on the whim, not really.

Prompto gives him a thumbs up behind Gladio's back, a bit big-eyed. They wave their goodbyes, and Noct slides into the Star of Lucis.

Ignis takes the wheel and gives a tiny private sigh that Noct immediately and probably correctly identifies as pining for the bespoke mechanical clock in the car, for all of his stated disdain for 'mere trimmings'.

"It was wonderful," Ignis says, softly. "I doubt I would've made time for this exhibition if you hadn’t made me, Noct, and I had a splendid time."

Noct feels an inexorable blush crawl up the back of his neck, and ducks his head. He glances at Ignis sideways; Ignis is looking at the road, as always too good a driver to be distracted by anything else, even though it's been snowing for a couple of days, and it's a weekend, so the street is mostly empty. But there's a small, relaxed smile lurking in the corners of his mouth, and seeing it makes Noct feel happy and - and _big_ , he did it, he put it there - and yet twists his insides sharply.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, and guiltily covers his mouth, because he was _not_ going to make Ignis first (and likely last) free day of several months all about him again. "Shit, nevermind, I'm…"

"For what? It's okay, Noct."

There's a hint of steel in Ignis' tone, meaning that there's no wriggling out - and the invitation is too tempting. "I'm not going to - I'm not going to be a good king."

Specs clears his throat, and Noct talks over him, the words tripping over themselves, because now that he's started he doesn't want to stop. "I know - don't tell me I will learn, I'm _trying_ , I know I need to learn and I will, I will do better, you know I've been trying, but I hate it, and I'm pretty sure I'm always going to hate it, and I'm just - I'm never going to _get_ it, okay? I'm never going to enjoy all this stuff, or remember who has a grudge against whom, or learn to pit Council people against each other, or be that interested in the sewers system, or - I know you keep hoping - "

"Noct," Specs says. He still doesn't take his eyes off the road, but he lifts his right hand off the wheel and puts it on Noct's knee for a moment, warm and solid. "You don't need…"

"Don't placate me," Noct hisses, comforted and enraged in equal measure. "I'm not a kid anymore."

"Don't put words in my mouth." Specs hands are on the wheel again, eight and four, relaxed and correct. "I was just trying to say that you presume a lot about what I hope for and what I'm worried about."

" _You_ told me you care about me being a Prince."

"No," Specs says, serenely, "I told you I care about your princely duties because they're an indelible part of your life, which is still true. Because they're _a part of your life_ , and I want your life to be as happy and as smooth as possible."

He glances at the left mirror, frowns a bit, makes some invisible adjustment on the dashboard Noct doesn't understand. "I fully and earnestly believe you're going to be a great king one day, Noct. You will be just and you will be kind, because you already are, and you will protect your subjects and fight for them. But I don't harbor any hopes for you ever having a knack for intrigue or domestic affairs, no."

"That's my point," Noct mutters. "The fair and just king only works out in fairytales, right? You need to be good at the rest of this stuff in real life. " 

"Right," Specs says. "And for that, you'll always have me."

His smile is sharp now, almost vulpine, and within its lurks memory of a boy Noct knew, the one who helped him sow mischief around the Citadel. "Me - Gladio - Prompto, too - other people who will come. You _are_ a Prince, and we are your friends, and we're also yours to serve. You will point us at what you want done, and we will serve at Your Highness’ pleasure. Noct, how come you didn't realize it yet? I know your burden is great, but you’re not alone, and you won’t ever be."

Gratitude washes over Noct, hot and scalding, and then, so fast he scarcely notices the change, rage tinged with terror; his nails leave painful crescents in his palms, and he chokes on the phantom smell of blood and smoke. He barely recognizes his own voice as it comes out. "You can't promise that."

"I…"

Specs glances at the side mirror again, and then says, in a calm and utterly _wrong_ voice that makes the hair on Noct's forearms rise, "Noct, check your seatbelt and be prepared to go into the footwell the moment I tell you."

" _What?_ "

Noct's body feels like it's lagging, buffering; he can't be hearing what he thinks he does. Specs' hands are still school-correct on the wheel, but he's alert when he's been relaxed just a moment ago, leaning slightly towards the wheel, and the blurred street lights start flashing faster past them. "It might be a false alert," Specs says, calmly, "but two cars just had a collision behind us, and I don't like the way they happened to cut off our convoy." He hits a button on the dashboard, and Noct winces at the static filling the air. "And," Specs adds, "somebody seems to be jamming our connection. Call Gladio, Noct, would you?"


	3. Chapter 3

There's a faint ringing in Noct's ears; he wastes several precious moments staring at Specs and waiting for him for him to admit it's some weird, out-of-character joke. But Specs' eyes are on the road ahead of them, and he gives Noct an impatient jerk of his chin, urging his on. And - and Noct's phone doesn't connect to a network.

"Keep calling," Specs says.

Noct listens to his phone splutter without making a connection, staring into the rear view window on his side, but there's nothing unusual he can glimpse through the falling snow; a smattering of cars moving at normal speed, several late-night pedestrians hurrying home with shopping bags. _What?.._

That's when they approach an intersection and a car - Noct only has time to register _bulky_ , and _black_ \- screeches to a stop in the middle of the street, blocking their way.

Their own car shudders violently as Specs arrests it motion, barely a meter before collision, and then throws it in reverse. They drive back, barely weaving out of the way of the upcoming traffic, and slot, rear-end first, in the small one-way side-street a while back.

"Hold on," Specs says, curt and calm; he's twisted in the driver's seat, left hand on the wheel and right gripping the back of Noct’s chair, and looking behind them as he drives them backwards. "Don't worry," he adds, startling Noct into a small, hiccupping bubble of laughter.

They shoot through the side-street and jump into the larger street, Specs sliding them neatly around a truck and slotting into the traffic as if he didn't just almost cause five separate accidents, and Noct's still catching his breath when the dashboard comes to life. The sound is still staticky, jumping around, but he can hear _convoy engaged_ and _car lost_ and _report, Scientia_ , and Ignis' face is scaring him.

"He's safe," Specs says, tersely, and "Option three," and then launches into an incomprehensive string of codes.

Then he clicks the connection shut; there's a deep furrow between his eyebrows, like he's trying to close his eyes in frustration and can't afford to, and Noct's _afraid_.

"Specs?"

"I don't like it," Specs says. "There might be a leak, and I don't know where it is."

Noct's stomach clenches; he can feel the caramel bar from before trying to crawl back up his throat. "Somebody sold me out?"

"Or the attackers are just lucky and well-prepared," Specs says. He takes a turn at the intersection, sliding through a yellow light, and then another at the next; somebody honks at them, and Noct, a touch hysterically, imagines tomorrow's tabloid headlines: _The Prince of Lucis rudely cutting off his subjects, joyriding on winter roads_ …

"What do we do?"

"I'll get us to the nearest large police station," Specs says, "and we'll hunker down there, get Gladio. I trust him before anybody else."

The snow, of course, chooses this moment to start coming down heavier; Ignis weaves them in and out of (thankfully still sparse) traffic with care, and Noct tries to breathe and remind himself that reaching for his weapons is a bad idea inside a car. It's not like the Engine Blade is going to make a lot of difference if somebody rams them off the road, but without a weapon he feels horrifically small and vulnerable.

"We're just several miles away now," Specs says, "steady, Noct. Fifteen more minutes, and you can brag to Prompto you saw this evasive driving practice before he did, okay?"

Noct manages a shaky smile at this. A part of him, well-conditioned over the years, relaxes in response to Spec's _I have it under control_ voice; another part of himself is wrung out by panic, slowly freezing into immobility. _I'm not ten anymore_ , he thinks, furiously. _I can fight. I can…_

"Ten minutes," Specs says, and then swears, low and vulgar; Noct squints ahead, past the windshield wipers, to see two fuzzy dark outlines blocking the road. A car to their right furiously brakes, sliding in the road sludge, and the traffic behind them collapses into a screech of metal and confusion; Ignis swears again, reaching for Armiger, and _stabs the dashboard_ , to the shower of sparks.

"Airbags," he says, cryptically. "Hold on, Noct," - the car adjusts - instead of stopping, they pick up speed, streetlights turning into a band of smeared light, and Noct's going to die, they're both going to _die_ \- they plow into the cars, head on, there's a _crunch_ and the impact jarring Noct's teeth out of his skull - and they're free, the ambush swept behind them like so much debris.

Noct whoops in horrified delight. "Told you this car is made for ramming," Specs shouts, stepping on the pedal. Noct can see the tiny dot of the police department far in the distance, a straight line, and they're almost _there_ …

Something looms out of the snow on Ignis' side, too big - dark - the blow goes through Noct's bones, ears, jaw, the world swirls in a nauseating spiral - pavement - sky - pavement - snow - snow - snow - it's like they're trapped in a glass ball of snow that somebody's shaking with delight, and it's silent and it's slow, almost beautiful, this spin, and it doesn't end and doesn't end and doesn't end, until the reality catches up with sight and sound and _pain_ , an implosion in Noct's right temple, and blinks out - blinks out...

"Noct!"

Ignis barks the word into his uncomprehending ear; Noct shakes his head, slowly, feeling as if he's underwater. He's hanging, head down, arrested painfully by this seatbelt; their car seems to be upside down, and there's a smear of red left behind when he peels himself away from the door. He turns around, and stares at Ignis' face, bleached white and stained red, his glasses hanging off his face by one bent arm.

"Thank Shiva," Ignis breathes; he reaches out, touches Noct's shoulder gently, and his face, to Noct’s terror, almost crumples. "You need to warp right now, we only have moments while they can't see you - I'll cut your seatbelt, and you warp towards the station, you're almost there. Go, Noct, go! Only leave the station with Gladio, don't trust anybody else."

"No," Noct says, nausea rising up. "Specs?"

"I'll be right behind you," Specs says, as bad at blatant lies as ever; the blood is running down his face, catching in his hair, and if it were a dream, Carbuncle would wake Noct up right about now. Specs reaches out, calling for his dagger. "Go, Noct," he says, " _now_ " - and Noct, unable not to trust him, throws the blade, blind, and he is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done with one cliffhanger, onwards to the other! Special thanks to WandererRiha for helping me with car details.

**Author's Note:**

> The story is mostly written and will update roughly once a week, about four parts in total. Tags may change a bit.  
> Thanks to Lagerstatte for a very patient beta ♥


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